


A Second on the First

by hanktalkin



Series: Counting [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fireworks, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: cold hearts and cold winds can be warmed by good friends





	

**Author's Note:**

> a continuation of a perfect four

If you thought about, moving to the desert and living in the ass end of nowhere could remedy all the things that made New Years terrible. The fancy parties, the too-cold-to-even-digest air, the people watching the ball drop an hour too early because of goddamned time zones; all that was absent in the middle of the New Mexican badlands.

Soldier bent over his latest batch of fireworks, the cold fluttering through his shirt only the gentle nip of the nighttime instead of the soul-wrenching chill that he was used to. Despite living in the Midwestern United States his entire life, Soldier hated winter. Snow was just so expressionless and bleak, it got in socks and jackets and stayed there until you were shivering in your boots. The winters in Germany were just as bad, especially with no company to fall back to or cot to sleep in; he’d simply had to find shelter where he could, stealing if need be. The enemy always had plenty of blankets.

As he determined that the entirety of his barrage was set and ready to go, he leaned back, tilting his head toward the sky above him. The stars were cold and distant tonight, the same stars from back home. But when he looked at them, they didn’t make the tips of his ears sting or his nose raw. They were aloof, but somehow nicer.

“And here’s the last o’ them,” a thick brogue said from behind the Soldier.

Carrying their final case of rockets, the Demoman huffed, depositing them on the ground with all the delicacy a man of his soberness was capable of. He was dressed snuggly in a light jacket and an earflap hat to replace his beanie, the illusion of warmth somewhat ruined by the bare ankles beneath his kilt. He grinned at the Soldier, his breath turning white in the night.

“How are those double checks comin’?”

“Damn well and you know it,” Soldier grunted. “What with all your meddling, I’d be surprised if they still had any _umph_ left at all!”

Demo chuckled, ignoring Soldier’s crankiness, and bent down to unpack the fireworks. There wasn’t much Soldier could do anymore to annoy his fellow mercenaries, they’d gotten used to his scathing remarks and wild bouts of impulses in the year they’d been a team. They knew he almost never meant the words he said, or at least could tell the difference between “normal Soldier” and “genuinely mad Soldier.”

For instance, Soldier wasn’t _actually_ mad that Demo had helped him with his rockets this year. It mostly meant that Soldier got to use the laboratory, all the while Demo made helpful comments here and there. He’d never tried to take over Soldier’s work, or tell him how to do his job. Besides, the company’d been nice.

Soldier spared a glance over to where the rest of the team was assembled. It was nearly identical to five months ago: seven mercenaries all clustered around, listening to the Engineer play, waiting for the show to start. Soldier wasn’t nearly as nervous about tonight, however. It was just New Years, not nearly as much pressure riding on him as the Fourth, and if he ended mucking it up somehow it wasn’t the end of the world. Ironically, the thing that _did_ make him nervous was the man next to him. Five months ago was there last firework show together, back in July. Had it really been that long? Soldier had been reliving that Fourth over and over again so often it felt like it happened just yesterday. A night, so like tonight, he and Demo had been sitting under the fireworks and…

Well. There was no way around it. He and Demo had kissed.

In the half a year since (after he’d recovered from the shock that is) Soldier had desperately been trying to cement that moment into his memory. It seemed small and insignificant, and they’d never mentioned it again, but Soldier new that that wasn’t quite it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out what it _meant_.

 _It’d been just for luck_ was the obvious answer, but everyone and their knew grandma that was just a cockamamie thing you said so you’d have an excuse to kiss the person you liked. At least, that was what Soldier had always thought.

So, where did that leave him?

Did he actually like the Demoman? Sure he was nice to look at, anyone could see that. And he was good at talking to people, always knowing what to say to calm Soldier down during a particularly bad fit. He told stories, and drank a lot, and was generally just fun to be around. Only…

If he had all that good stuff going for him, why would he ever kiss Soldier back in the first place?

You kissed someone back because you liked them too, and Soldier thought that Demo _did_ like him. Only, in the months since summer, he’d noticed how Demo was nice to _everyone_. Sure he was angry sometimes, but his anger burned hot and fast and fizzled away before he’d done more than broken a few bottles. On the whole, he was kind. Just a nice person who let wash-up ex-soldiers kiss him for luck.

They were setting up the fireworks, just like they had on the Fourth. Despite being a bit dense, the significance of that wasn’t lost on Soldier. He couldn’t take the unknowing, he was going to have to broach the subject eventually—he’d just have to be subtle about it.

“So. Are we going to kiss again tonight?”

Dammit.

Demo blinked at him, and for a second he was sure the Scotsman was going ask what the hell he was talking about.

But after a moment, Demo shrugged. “Sure. If you want to.”

Soldier stumbled over himself. “Since it’s your tradition and all. To do the good luck kiss on New Years instead of the Fourth of July.”

Soldier mentally hit himself, trying to shut up. _He already said yes, dammit!_

“Aye, o’ course.”

Worrying what he might say if he opened his mouth again, Soldier went back to work. Between the two of them, it didn’t take long, and the whole wring of fireworks was set with a half an hour to spare. Once they were done, Demo yanked a blanket out of one of the boxes and spread it on the ground. He plopped down and gave the spot net to him a little pat while he grinned at Soldier.

“You think I’m going to sit on some blanket like some old lady at the parade?” Soldier barked in response. “The cold hard earth was _made_ for asses like mine, and that’s where I’ll sit. Like a _man_.”

Demo only raised his eyebrow and grinned harder.

“Do not try your mind tricks on me! It won’t work.”

But not a second after he said those words, Soldier’s resolve crumbled. He sat down next to Demoman in a huff, and tried to tell himself he was only here because all the good patches of dirt were taken. Demo checked his watch, and fiddled with the detonator.

“This place is nothin’ like New Years at home,” Demo commented after a while. “It’s so bloody dry for one thing. Back in my day, you had tae slosh through three miles o’ brown snow just tae get anywhere for a decent party. And by decent I mean where the booze was somewhat stronger than lemonade.”

“I like it,” Soldier said. He’d meant to be harsh, but his voice came out as vaguely morbid. Demo painted a picture of ugly but tolerable winters, nothing quite as bad as what Soldier remembered. “I don’t need any damn parties to tell me what year it is.”

Demo frowned, knowing wheels were turning the Soldier’s mind, but not sure of the exact machinations.

Soldier sighed. “I just don’t like winter,” he said, as weak of an explanation that was. “It is all around the most anti-American thing god has ever created. Do you know how many honest souls have died in the malevolent clutches of Jack Frost?” Soldier was throwing his hands in the air, but he had little presence to care how he looked. Demo merely raised an eyebrow.

“Once, I was almost _murdered_ by the season’s arctic forces,” the Soldier continued. “There was this tunnel the other kids had built, only when I went through, the snow in front of me collapsed. I tried to back up, but my coat was too big; it went over my head and I couldn’t breathe. They had to find some man that lived down the street to pull me out by the ankles.”

“You hate winter just because you fell into a snow bank?” the amused Demoman asked.

Soldier meant to bluster something scathing, but with a blink of surprise, he realized Demo was staring at him. Of course he was _looking_ at Soldier, the American had been telling a story after all, but it was such an warm gaze full of light familiarity. Soldier had to look away with only a few mutterings of _ice devils_. It wasn’t the way Demo watched him when they’d been built the fireworks together, or grinned at him across dinner, but one that was so warm it made Soldier’s hands clammy. The proverbial tightness in his stomach tried rip out his internal organs and run away.

“Is it time to light them yet?” Soldier asked, trying to change the subject.

Demo hastily checked his watch and found it was only a few minutes away. He handed the detonator to Soldier with an embarrassed smile, as though ashamed he’d been caught staring.

The flatness of the badlands extended all around them, catching Soldier’s eye as he waited for the signal. The gentle twang of the guitar was background noise in the darkened night, putting him at ease, reminding him that the second best show of the year was about to start.

“Now,” Demo practically whispered, and Soldier pressed the detonator.

So much light, so much sound. It felt good to fill the infinite darkness with their own starts, the ones he and Demo had created in a little lab in the basement of the base. Each rocket was it’s own note, a symphony of color, changing moods that captured the faces of their audience. Awe would never be enough to describe it.

He felt more than heard the Demoman move closer. Ears ringing, he peered over, Demo looking as amazed as Soldier felt. It was the same as last time, the intimacy of sharing this moment.

But Soldier couldn’t do it. The team was far away, their cheering only static in his ears, yet there were the ever-present eyes on him, waiting for him to make a mistake. Waiting to judge him. His hands shook and he couldn’t complete that motion that had been so organic when the nights were short and the days were long.

Disappointment swelled in Demo’s face. It made Soldier feel even guiltier that he couldn’t stay true to his own promises, but before he could pull away he noticed a change. The sadness drained from Demo’s face, replaced by…something else. Soldier didn’t have time to process what was different until Demo leaned in and kissed him.

It was heat. Passion mixed between them, not the natural ease of before, but a desire that was new and exciting. Demo’s hands reached to trace Soldier’s jaw, before stopping gently at his neck. Their knees bumped together, both leaning in so far their chests touched.

And all the while the spectacle carried on above them.

They parted, neither one breaking this kiss first. It just sort of…ended. Relief and something else ran down Soldier’s spine, and he slumped with a smile. He didn’t get a good look at Demo before he was leaned up against him, Demo’s arm around his shoulders. Eyes turned heavenward as the finale blazed through the night.

By the time lights had gone down, Demo and Soldier were left alone in the night, surrounded by the smell of gunpowder. Soldier sat up on his own, blinked away the fireworks still imprinted on his eyes.

“’S a real shame,” Demo said, rubbing his own eye.

“What is?”

Demo looked over at Soldier, and almost sad smile playing at his lips. “That I have to wait a whole seven months tae do that again.”

“Well, you don’t have to.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Soldier’s neck went warm. Demo raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you don’t have to wait that long.”

“Really? Would I only have tae wait until St. Pattie’s day?”

Soldier’s hands shook as he spoke, barely able control the words as they came bubbling up. “Sooner than that.”

“A month?”

Soldier gently pulled on the fabric of Demo’s jacket, bringing them all the closer.

“A week?” Demo guessed. His eye couldn’t escape Soldier’s if it tried.

“Now,” Soldier whispered.

His lips were still warm.

**Author's Note:**

> the whole snowbank thing actually happened to me. scary shit man
> 
> also happy new year my dudes!


End file.
